VIBGYOR

Brussels in spring

Bins asked for pictures. Here is the first set just before leaving for weinfest in the Pfalz. Rest after I am back.

The different types of sweets in this country makes it an ideal place for me to live.

Chocolate fountains, chocolatiers at work...

and though the waffles look lovely, I do not like the ones in the tourist area as much as some in certain hidden restaurants....

and no tourist place is complete without the Japanese - here they are competing to take pictures of the most famous man in Brussels.

Eating out

"You should try this place around the corner. It has the best dinner in Brussels". I was being driven to Gare du Midi one Friday evening on my way to Germany. The taxi drivers in Brussels speak English - some with difficulty providing me to try my three words of French and some quite easily providing me with insights into immigrants lives or into some Brussels life in different strata of the society. So it was that as we crossed the intersection of Chaussée de Waterloo and Rue Washington, he gave this all sweeping comment about Hector's chicken.

I resolved then that I should end my self imposed exile from these joints which in my mind were fast food. Yet, my schedule and my laziness prevented me from walking out to one of these.

After a week of staying away from any serious non vegetarian except fish, I talked my husband to visiting this corner fast food with red signs proclaiming the chicken chef. As I ordered, a basket of chicken tenders was thrown into hot oil to fry itself out. I paid and picked up the bag and walked home in complete anticipation. Tripping over my saree in my hurry to reach home, I swore in impatience as the traffic lights turned red as we approached.

Perhaps it was the anticipation, perhaps it was the amazement that a fast food could really serve the best food in Brussels, I am afraid to say that Hector's chicken as only confirmed my view about oily deep fried chicken tenders and it will be sometime before I remove my lack of faith in fast food chicken fries joints.

Will I listen to recommendation from taxi drivers in future? - I think I will - you never know where there is a hidden gem.

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The other day I had been to Nespresso to get their new flavours. I had seen 5 new colours on the window of the Nespresso shop in Milan and my curiosity was aroused. So I took the liberty of a free Saturday morning to get my new flavours.

 

What caught my eye was Indriya from India. I had tasted their previous flavour from India when they had brought out the limited version. It had been too strong for me but there were others who had loved the strong coffee. The colour of the Rosabaya from Columbia caught my attention than any other feelings besides knowing that Columbia had a big coffee production. There was nothing of interest in the Dulsão though... I do not know why I was intrigued by this - perhaps because I did not know before about Brazilian coffee.

I also bought 2 packs of the lungo new varieties. Again, I do not know why - was it my inherent loyalty to the brand or was it George Clooney? There were untried Lungo varieties still at home. Yet, the compulsive buying disorder played up just when I was ordering.

 

Once I was there I picked up two Dolcettis (Framboise-Gingembre or Raspberry-Ginger and Fleur d'Orange or organge flavoured) at exorbitant prices.

 

In anycase, one box of Columbian is almost over. Indriya is not as strong as the last one - though I agree with Nespresso that it is probably best used in Capuccino rather than as espresso.

I do love the Framboise-Gingembre and I have not yet opened the other Dolcetti - it says it needs to be finished quickly after the bag is opened.

and yes, Parmanu can make out now which capsule I use - I tried to cheat him to finish the most unpopular one in this household - the strongest "Ristretto". He patiently put up with it for 2 days before venturing out with the courage to say it - "there is something different about the flavour you have been giving me - can I have the Columbian in future?"... sigghhh... I still have another 5 capsules of the Ristretto. Any volunteers to drink it?

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As I was returning from the Nespresso shop, I noticed the Sushi Shop which had escaped my eye before. I ventured into it and found a few intriguing things. It was quite affordable, the take away did not seem to have wilting fish, the menu could satisfy a few of my cravings and yes! they deliver at just 2 Euros extra. I went away with a Menu box and a book of Menu. The next two weeks I would have no chance to eat Sushi, I assumed.  

My husband is revelling in his new found skill. These holidays he finally learnt how to cook and made the full meal all by himself (before all my readers go into wonders let me explain - in his own terms "Even when I cook these things it tastes so good - you must have taught me the easiest things"). So there was really no chance to eat out with all the culinary experiments ongoing. So finally day before when we were both tired, I picked up the phone and ordered Sushi for myself and California rolls with cucumber and avocado for him. 

I normally deplore delivered Sushi - they are not that fresh by the time they arrive from RestoPresto even if ordered from Shogun, one of the better Sushi restaurants I have been to. So when my door bell rang just in 20 minutes, I was astonished. As I stirred a mount of Wasabi into the soya sauce, I realized that my worry about not ordering extra wasabi was unnecessary - there was enough wasabi even for the wasabi smoker like me (infact there was even some left over at the end).

Yet, when I closed my chopsticks around the Sashimi, I realised that the pieces had not been disjointed from each other. I am a poor chopstick user and it took me a bit of struggle to pry the piece I was targeting free from the next one. The thin thread joining them should not have been there if it had been cut as Sashimi should be carefully cut (I learnt from a bit of research later).  Apart from this grave mistake, the fish was as fresh as it could be when delivered. As I smoked the wasabi in pieces in between, the tuna and the salmon melted into my mouth. With 4 different types of fishes, I was a satisfied customer for the money I was paying. Of course I could have had better one if I had gone to a couple of other restaurants - I would have also ended up paying 3 times as much as I paid.

So I think after two years, I have found myself a place to order dinner from, get it quickly and still have the satisfaction of getting my return on investment. If I feel like it, this place is close enough for me to walk to and sit with other people around me.

Altogether, I think it is a good discovery for a normal evening eat out - not for a special evening though.

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A new shop has opened 2 streets away from my apartment. With a name like "Kerala" there was no doubt I was going to enter it. I now get the special bananas and some pickles and spices without having to talk myself to going all the way to Chaussée de Gand. Best of all - I get to speak in my own language, Malayalam and with a weather and atmosphere as in Bangalore, I can even imagine that I am back in Bangalore. Altogether, it has been a good 2 weeks with respect to food.

Still discovering Brussels

We went to watch "The Reader" yesterday. I opted for the smaller "Vendome" cinema rather than in the multiplex. This Cinema has a 50's appearance and is quite a fitting one to watch a movie starting in the late 50's. As I entered the Cinema I noticed the brick walls painted in dark grey and worn out a bit, large pipes running along the walls and that there were only 6 other people sitting on the bright turquoise chairs all placed at the same height. I sat down, put my bag on the chair on the right and the jacket on the chair on the left to ensure that Parmanu would get to pick his seat when he came. It was not necessary, there were just about another 5 people in the theatre by the time the movie started.

The Vendome is situated in a very different part of Brussels than the one I am staying at. I always wanted to take a walk in these parts and for sure it is a very different life there. The place is teeming with different types of African shops - grocery, telephone cards to call Africa, beauty shops, African special clothes and so on. Most of the people walking there are Africans - there is a "zing" in the air as African music belts out from the different bars there. There is life in the streets even at 8:30 in the evening different from other places in Brussels where life starts moving indoors.

We walk past the shops to an area filled with restaurants. There are different types of restaurants here - we spotted an Ethiopian one and then another African one and even a cuban one. In between there are Vietnamese and Thai restaurants as well. There is one Indian restaurant - I remember going here when we first came - neither food nor the service compelled us back to this restaurant ever again. I must even qualify this restaurant as having the worst Indian food I had ever had in Europe apart from the fast food one in City II in Brussels. Don't get me wrong - Brussels does have good restaurants with Indian food too.

As Parmanu is vegetarian non-alcoholic and neither of us were hungry, we just did window shopping at the restaurants. I drooled at some meat curry smells and the menus while he took some pictures. I made a mental note that I should visit these places with some friends or with my sister when she comes. We found some pasta and Thai restaurants where we could find a compromise to eat another time when we were hungry. We watched the different light falling on the streets as the time passed by sitting on the tables put on the pavement by one of the bars. I nestled a Caipirinha and Parmanu sipped a Vanille Tea. 

We later walked to Vendome.

The beauty of Europe

I am lucky. I get to travel once or twice across countries every month. It is not often that I put things in this perspective. However, yesterday, listening to some announcements on the train, it just struck me about how lucky I am.

The announcements started in French - a language I am beginning to understand more and more though the conversation with my french friend yesterday went like this:

Colours: "I did not understand what you just said".

EG: "what! You are not listening?"

Colours, who loves to tease him about his accent though he speaks very good English: "you just said something in french"

EG: "I did not. Besides you know French now".

Colours: "Ya sure! Ca Va? Bien! Etwa! Merci!"

EG: "It is time you learnt more. You have known that for 2 years."

Talk about honesty in friendships! In anycase I digress. Let me come back. The announcement then went on to dutch, English and then German. There was something comforting about the variety in the atmosphere. There were German, French, Dutch, native English and even a Malayalam speaker in the train. All sat in Harmony each one doing their own activities. We were all united in our activities - trying to make the time fly in one of the best trains in Europe.

Perhaps because I come from India, the land of variety I crave for that variety and I do not find it in any other place in Europe than in Belgium.Switzerland is a land of 3 official languages too - yet, there is no one place in Switzerland where all three languages are spoken. Besides, as the European Union capital, it is not just the three official languages one gets to hear. When one sits in the tram there is a myriad of languages being spoken all around you. The high immigrant population from the African countries adds to the diverse colours, sounds and sights in this city.

I reached Germany from the city of colours and there was the completely orderly German train station at the Frankfurt Airport. There was not a cigarette piece out of its place, there were no papers lying around. White looked white and grey looked grey... - I looked at the ICE (the train I had just travelled by for the last 3.5 hours) and wondered how on earth did they manage to keep a train so white in colour.

Going Crazy

At times I do go crazy... I have talked myself into choreographing and coaching on the dances for the next Bollywood Party in Brussels on Feb 26-th held by the expats. The team came back with their choices - here are two. Heavens help me! I have to now choreograph the dance songs and possibly coach the westerners to dance as in the following dances. This weekend is going to be fun.

I have no idea what they are saying in this song (which language I wonder - Telugu?). I am sure there are some really sidey lyrics after watching this video - I had put it on the blog but decided to take it off. I wonder how they dug up these videos...

Musical identity for the City

Saturday evening (mobile photo): As usual humiity of musicians touch my heart.

 

After the Korean concert evening and this evening and a few other evenings before with different types of music, I could surely get addicted to this city.

A new life

It is late night. I am returning from Leuven. I have just entered the city and the strains of "Kabhi Kabhi Aditi" has just started. There are not many cars on the street - the winter night has already set in - it is dark outside and the lights come from the street lamps, the windows of the apartments lining the main street and casting their yellow glow onto the pavement, the red car tail-lights and the alternating red, yellow, green lights from the traffic signals. There is a cool bounce in the air outside the car - the air inside has a steady warmth in it.

 

I see a stray bluish silver glow in the cigarette holder below my music system. Oh no! I just got the inside of the car cleaned a couple of weeks back.

 

....

 

I had pulled into the car wash one afternoon when my laptop was being configured at work. A face with familiar characteristics walked up to me.

 

"Aap Urdu bolte hain?" (Do you speak Urdu?) - the young face asked me.

 

"Nahin, mein Hindi thodi bahuth bolti hoon" - I said conscious, in front of the typical north Indian accent, of the fact that I can make many gender related mistakes in a full sentence. A smile spread on his face on knowing that we had a different "own" language to converse in than French. We continued to arrange the time to pick up the car and the activities to be performed on the car in Hindi - both happy to revert to pseudo native tongues. As we spoke, another person came and took the key from my hand.

 

"Aap CD mein gaana sun sakthey hain" - I said. He looked at me blankly and I repeated in Hindi.

 

"He is from Morocco and he does not understand Hindi". I blanched with embarrassment at thinking that everyone with same colour and featuers must be from the subcontinent.

 

"You can listen to the songs from the CD if you want" - I repeated in English and he nodded. 

 

About 45 minutes later I left with a gleaming car, and the mobile numbers of 4 people working in the car wash and their families.

 

"We stay in Molenbeek and we have a large family - all our families live there and we get Hindi film DVDs. You must visit us and eat with us". It is Ramadan now - a good time to take them up on their offer. I should call them one day.

 

....

 

She is an older Greek lady. My refrigerator and washing machine had just arrived. I had gone downstairs to give instructions on how they could bring it up. She was at the doorbell waiting for someone. She said Hello first.

 

"I am buying an apartment here" - she said. "Do you live here?".

 

"I just moved in. I am getting my refrigerator now".

 

She looked outside at the truck and at the refrigerator. She helped me give instructions to the delivery people.

 

"I have to show my future studio apartment to some possible tenants. Which place do you stay? - I can come up and see you before I leave".

 

I indicated to her the floor where I stayed and gave her my name. She came up later, looked through my apartment completely and complimented me on my new refrigerator. She took my mobile number and left. I wrote hers down in my red diary which I had carried from Walldorf to Lausanne and back to Brussels. In the months that followed I got embroiled in my troubled life, lost the rest diary and forgot the old Greek lady.

 

About a month back, I was really down with no friend in Brussels and feeling completely lonely after a very difficult day. I was off on a business trip to US the next day, not at all motivated about going to another place, living in hotel for a week (very unusually for me) and so on. I opened the front door to the building and there she stood.

 

"I am buying one more apartment" - she said - "I lost your mobile number and so I could not reach you and never found you at home".

 

She said she would accompany me while I went to a nearby internet center for me to take printout of my ticket. Later, after I packed, we went out for a drink together and promised to meet up after I was back.

.....

 

So there I was in the car this winter night, feeling positive about the new people I was meeting from outside work. I picked up a leaf next to the bluish silver paper of Mentos cover and rolled down the window to throw the leaf out. A wave of natural street air filled me. As a small child, we did not have A/C in the car. My father and grandfather had cars where we had to drive with windows rolled down - as was normal in India. The air was not pollution free - it had the fumes of the vehicles. The music was punctuated by sounds of stalling engines, accentuated by a couple of horns here and there. The sounds of the street combined with the air lifted my already positive spirits - this was reality. A reality of connecting with life outside the car, of being one with the people outside who were leading different lives - one that I had felt shut off from when the windows were rolled up and I was encoused in my own cocoon.

 

I now leave my window down when I drive within the city - it is a completely different world altogether that I drive though....

Beautiful

I had forgotten that there was an event I wanted to attend today. I knew there was something that I was forgetting to do and could not remember what it was.

I was sitting in my bed silently reading when I suddenly felt the sky flare up at the horizon. I looked up and saw one of the most beautiful sights - there were colourful rays lighting up the sky in different trajectories - the fireworks to commemorate the 50 years of Atomium. The atomium never looked so beautiful, I was never happier to have taken this apartment where I can sit on my bed and watch the celebrations (though I would have rather been there - atleast I did not pay the price for forgetting).

For once I am not running for my camera - the grandeur had quietened after 15 minutes. The Atomium has merged into the darkness unlike on the other days.

Picture of the day

 

Brusselians out on the Easter day. Perhaps the bag contains eggs she collected today (I wonder whether they start collecting eggs so early in the morning). The weather looked good and the chill wind blew against my face.

The amount of fun that the people with children will have today is incomparable. So it was that it got me thinking. Celebrating festivals take a different meaning when you have children. Each ceremony is a discovery for them and the celebration and the passing on of the culture to them is something that helps us preserve too. When you are just with adults the innocent curiosity is replaced by a scepticism brought in by inteference of the factual knowledge with the fantastical and mystical world.

Perhaps during Vishu this year, I can try to transport myself into this fantastical world and try to relive that magical belief again.

Accomplishments at the end of the weekend

• I cannot seem to escape bullet points
• Regained my cooking abilities - elaborately cooked for husband (borrowing his way of saying "Wife") including some sort of baking for the first time in life, innovating with ingredients again, taking time over cooking without hurrying to make just about anything
• Unpacked the suitcase and found things I wanted to use to make myself feel good - to dress well when going out last weekend but never bothered to only to regret later when I saw the photos

                                          

• Unpacked 4 out of 6 boxes and put some of the books away in the small "Billy" only to realize that I should have done it earlier. A bookshelf makes a home a home. Still need to find a place for the Gods though.
• Realized that Husband likes to fix atleast one shelf ulta.
• Threw away the boxes in the corridor (something I should have done before last weekend)

                                              

• Moved the TV to the living room to compliment the new sofa arrangement which both Husband and I love.
• Shopped for some non-stiff looking business casuals only to worry that maybe they are a little more on the sexier side for a business conference.

This afternoon I packed all the food I made into small packets for Husband to carry with him back to Germany (and to prevent me from eating all of it). It took me back years ago. I suddenly felt as if I had come a full circle. The pictures of the food packets created in the dining room of Thamaraveli came alive. The children chased the cats and the elders packed the lunch in banana leaves. Different meals were packed in different parcels. Some of the parcels had fish and the others had coconut chamandi with curdrice. There were other packets too - murukku, ladoos, jilebis and bolis from the boli pattar in Valiasala besides other sweets.

The atmosphere was the same... the sound of rain provided a rhythmn to my packing...and someone was leaving. It was almost as if P.Syamala Devi was still here. The feeling was the same - holidays were over and we did not want to leave.